


The Avengers vs. the Fourth Wall

by gingertime



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies RPF, Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Breaking the Fourth Wall, Crossover, Gen, Meta, more like bringing the fourth wall crashing down with fanfare and confetti, weird meta shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-27
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-06 03:07:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingertime/pseuds/gingertime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the spirit of Supernatural's "The French Mistake", the Avengers are transported to the set of Marvel's film "The Avengers." They've got to find a way to get back to the real world, but they have to make it through press panels, photoshoots, and prosthetics application first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have taken some creative liberties with the chronology of the film so I could get all of the Avengers into the same place for the sake of the plot, and I hope you will forgive me for this.
> 
> Pretty much everything in this story is played for laughs and shouldn't be taken as truth, especially re: filming schedules, locations, and the mechanics of a film set, but if you see any absolutely GLARING inaccuracies, please please tell me!

******

  


From atop Stark Tower, Loki looked out at the city in flames. With the Chitauri and their steeds still emerging swarmlike out of the Tesseract’s portal, the island’s defenses would be overwhelmed sooner rather than later. But those pesky Avengers never ceased attempting to undermine his plans, always standing back up after he though he’d knocked them down for good. Even the man who considered himself Loki’s brother, the god of thunder himself, could not see the futility in their so-called ‘heroics.’

He gazed down towards the street, hundreds of feet below, and smirked at the civilians fleeing in terror from the encroaching alien warriors. Loki knew that the Avengers naively thought they would be able to defend this pathetic city, and save the planet from utter and complete subjugation. He also knew, however, something that they didn’t. He had a trick up his sleeve- after all, he was the god of mischief.

His fall through the infinity of space and time had revealed secrets to him, had opened his mind. And on his journey he had learned the existence of the immense power he was about to harness. He’d be safe from its effect as the bearer of the source, but the Avengers would have no way out.

A wide, wicked grin spread across his pallid face, and he gripped his staff tighter as the orb at its tip began to pulse and grow.  


Down on the ground, amidst the smoking rubble and wreckage, a team of six heroes had gathered to face down the Chitauri hordes. A super-soldier, a scientist, a demigod, an archer, an assassin, and Tony Stark.  
  
Tony was about take the lead in re-engaging the offensive, and was seconds away from firing his thrusters and launching off the ground when he noticed something.  
  
It had apparently also caught the eye of Steve Rogers. “What’s happening to Stark Tower?” he said, and pointed his red-gloved finger towards the building, above which the gateway was still pouring forth hundreds of Chitauri.  
  
Tony directed his gaze towards the tower, and magnified his suit’s view until he could see what was going on.  
  
A huge sphere of crackling light had enveloped the roof of the building, where Selvig was still maintaining the Tesseract and its gate. But Tony doubted that the bumbling, mesmerized physicist was the one behind this.  
  
“What is that thing?” said Bruce, squinting up into the sun.  
  
“It looks like... it’s growing!” said Natasha.  
  
“What the hell does that horned bastard think he’s doing?” growled Tony. “I need that building! For living in!”  
  
“Is Loki bringing something out of the portal?” Steve asked.  
  
“No... no, this is something new.” Tony stared intently at the glowing orb. Natasha was right- it was growing. And at an alarming rate, too. Was Loki trying to pull a fast one on them, in the heat of battle? Was this some weapon that he’d been craftily saving for the climax of their fight? Tony wouldn’t put it past the ostentatious jerkwad.  
  
The orb’s diameter was stretching across at least three city blocks now, and getting brighter as it grew. And it was growing fast.  
  
“JARVIS, how long is that thing gonna take to reach us?”  
  
“At the exponential rate it is expanding, you have approximately seven seconds, sir.”  
  
Tony turned around to look at the rest of the team. All of them were here, ready to fight and defend and do whatever they could take down the bad guys. They were strong, and they were a team. But this wasn’t the way it was supposed to go, no, something was very wrong. They weren’t supposed to be defeated easily and simply in a flash of bright light.  
  
“What do we do?” Natasha asked. She was staring intently at the quickly decreasing distance between them and the sphere.  
  
“Watch out!” shouted Tony, and then the light reached them, and everything went white.

  


******

  


“CUT!”  
  
Steve hadn’t realized that he had been crouching down. His ears were ringing, and there was a dry and sour taste in his mouth that reminded him uncomfortably of when he had woken up from his 70-year nap.  
  
He stood, and opened his eyes. His vision swam before him. He hadn’t felt nausea since he was a sickly, skinny army recruit, but there was no mistaking the queasy sensation that was growing in his abdomen.  
  
Something was different. Though the rational part of his mind protested, Steve somehow knew for sure that he wasn’t standing where he had been seconds ago.  
  
He noticed that it had suddenly become much quieter, and that was when he realized: the Chitauri were gone. The high, keening noises of their biotech weapons and sky-pods had vanished, and the dull roars of their massive Leviathans had disappeared as well. The screams of terrified citizens, the blaring of police sirens- all that was gone too.  
  
Could it be that what they thought was an attack from Loki had in fact been what saved them? Had the portal closed? Thoughts crowded Steve’s mind, thoughts of sabotage and secrets, and he was so distracted that he barely noticed when someone waved a hand in front of his face.  
  
“Yo! Anyone home?”  
  
He snapped out of his reverie. A girl he didn’t recognize was standing in front of him, holding out a water bottle. She looking vaguely disheveled.  
  
“We’re on break while they reset,” she said brusquely, and handed him the bottle. He looked at it, and then back to the girl, having not understood a word she had said.  
  
She stared back at him, her jaw set. “What are you waiting for? They’re gonna want you over at makeup for touch-ups like, five minutes ago! Re-hydrate yourself, I’m not doing it for you, here comes Sheila to drag you away and I’ve got to go get coffee for the grips and compile reports and refill the snack baskets and carry the AD’s backpack and....”  
  
The girl turned on her heel and walked away from Steve, still reciting tasks, while he stood there with his mouth open.  
  
Steve had no idea what was going on, and he had a feeling that it would only get worse. He saw out of his peripheral vision that the rest of the team were having similar encounters, and decided that they could take care of themselves for now. What he needed to do was some reconnaissance.  
  
So he turned around, and looked up.  
  
Steve staggered backwards, his breath catching in his throat. The sky had disappeared, to be replaced by a framework of dark metal piping and grating. The street he was standing on was still there, but twenty feet down on either side it just stopped, to be replaced by a sea of obnoxiously bright green stretching up for yards. The buildings of New York had been reduced to facades, through which that same green could be seen. Boxy lights strung up on poles reflected off of white screens set up around them, and cables and wires ran in twisted curves along the floor and up walls.  
  
Where the street ended, cracked cement warehouse floor took its place. Dozens if not hundreds of people were bustling to and fro among carts, tables, and machinery, holding tools and clipboards and what Steve proudly was able to recognize as walkie-talkies. They all seemed to be walking with purpose, conferring and conversing with some measure of freneticism.  
  
He was working on taking this all in when someone hissed in his ear.  
  
“Captain, what the hell is happening?”  
  
It was Agent Barton. Turning around again, Steve realized just how calm he was compared to the rest of the team. He guessed that his wake-up call in Times Square months back had prepared him adequately for these types of occasions, unlike everyone else. Barton’s face was practically white, and his hand was shaking with how tight a grip he had on his bow. Natasha looked like she was about to cry, Thor was holding his hammer to his mouth, and Dr. Banner was taking deep breaths with Tony Stark’s hand on his shoulder.  
  
Steve was just about to tell Barton that he knew just as much as anyone else did, but before he could speak, someone grabbed him by the arm and spun him around.  
  
He came face-to-face with a stout, matronly woman, her hair swept up in a loose bun. This must be the Sheila the girl had mentioned, Steve realized, and she was not looking happy.  
  
“You’ve got to do touch-ups before the next take,” she said, tapping her foot impatiently.  
  
“I know, I’m sorry,” Steve apologized. What was he supposed to say? He wasn’t going to be rude to this lady just because he had no idea where he was, or what was going on, or what a touch-up even was in the first place.  
  
A hint of a smile crept up her pursed lips. “Always so polite,” she said. “It’s like you really are Captain America.”  
  
And before he could ask her what the exactly she meant by that, he was pulled away by her firm grip. Craning his neck, he turned back to his team, who were all gaping at him. He gestured wildly at Sheila to indicate he had no control over his destination.  
  
“I have no idea what’s happening!” he mouthed at them; then he turned a corner, and they were lost from sight.

  


******

  


Steve had disappeared behind the racks and moving carts, bewildered, and Tony and the other four left among the smoldering debris were still taking in their surroundings.  
  
Bruce crouched down, picked up a bit of rubble, and crumbled it between his fingers. “It’s... styrofoam,” he said wonderingly.  
  
Tony removed his faceplate, and gazed intently down the street- or, rather, what had been the street. The sickly green that now surrounded them reminded him of something.  
  
“I recognize that color,” he said, slowly dredging up a memory.  
  
“That hideous lime?” said Thor, with an air of disgust.  
  
“Yeah,” said Tony. “I did some commercials for the company a while ago, you know, the ones with the pterodactyls?”  
  
Silence.  
  
“Oh, come on, you’re telling me none of you saw those? They were totally viral! With the exploding cars, and the forest fires, and I come in and-”  
  
“We get it, Stark, you’re a star,” Clint said sardonically.  
  
Tony stuck out his tongue. “Anyway, they had me prancing around in front of one of those things.” He pointed at the horizon.“It’s... a green screen.”  
  
“A what?” Thor asked, but before Tony could throw out a sarcastic retort about not having action movies in Asgard, he was interrupted.  
  
“Guys?”  
  
Everyone had been so caught up in the situation that they hadn’t noticed Natasha leaving. But now she was stepping back onto the pavement with something in her hand.  
  
She held it up so everyone could see. It was a black board with a striped top, and with numbers in white chalk written above glowing red numbers. Below that, a shiny logo that read:

  


_MARVEL’S_  
 **THE AVENGERS**

 

******

  


Greg Hale, second second assistant director, was getting more peeved by the minute. He’d called cut five minutes ago, and the cast was still loitering on the set, talking amongst themselves. They were all million-dollar superstars, weren’t they? You would think they’d have some decorum and leave to let the set crew do their job, but it looked like they thought they deserved to take their sweet time.  
  
“What are you doing still standing here?” he asked, striding up onto the false concrete and putting on his best assertive, directorial face. “You’ve got to clear out, we need to reset. Go get touched up, or head on over to craft services.”  
  
He pointed helpfully across the soundstage floor to the craft service table, where an array of snacks and beverages were stocked for the actors’ convenience.  
  
None of them moved. Greg noticed that they all looked vaguely spooked, like someone had just told them they’d been kicked out of the Screen Actor's Guild.  
  
“Well, get going!” he said, irked. “We’re running on a tight schedule here, and the last take was corrupted somehow- everything turned out overexposed as fuck, Joss is pissed, and we’ve got to do it all over again.”  
  
He was about to turn around and stalk authoritatively away, but he noticed suddenly that for some reason, Scarlett Johansson was holding a clapboard.  
  
“Hey, where’d you get that? Give it to me,” he demanded. She handed it over; he noticed that her hands were shaking. Strange: Scarlett was usually fairly confident and cheerful after takes, not skittish and tense like she seemed to be now.  
  
Greg took another look at all of the actors before he left to go yell at some set workers. He wasn’t the greatest at expressions- there was a reason he had gone into technical work instead of drama- but he could tell something was up. Were they upset about the take being ruined? It hadn’t been particularly amazing, to be honest; they should be glad to get another chance at it. Maybe some celebrity drama? Actors were like a whole other species.  
  
It didn’t matter, Greg decided. They were all probably just tired, like he was, like everyone else on set was. He headed over towards a cluster of electricians, and decided to ignore the actors’ potential crisis in favor of the one he would face if he didn’t get shit moving on this set. He had a film to second second assistant direct.  
  
“Don’t just stand around! Move, move, don’t you have things to plug in?”

  


******

  


  


“I told you, I’m not wearing any makeup!”  
  
Steve’s attempts to ward off the probing hands of Sheila were proving fruitless. In her hands she held a veritable arsenal of strange brushes, pencils, and creams, all which she was endeavoring to apply to his face.  
  
“That’s a very nice compliment, honey,” she said, dabbing a sticky, skin-colored paste onto his forehead while he squirmed. “I do my best to make it look like that on screen, don’t I? You’re playing a hero, you can’t look washed out and sickly under all those lights! So sit still!”  
  
“Ah... uh, yes, of course,” mumbled Steve, while his mind swam with questions. Playing a hero? He’d had his career described many ways- an exhibitionist, a phony, a true paragon of courage- but never so blithely as “playing” a part. What could she possibly mean by that?  
  
He had almost resigned himself completely to getting smeared with cosmetics for reasons unknown, when out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of an instantly familiar streak of red and gold. He swiveled around to confirm that it was indeed Tony Stark, and it looked like he was making his way towards the makeup table. Steve was amused to note that, even though they were in a strange place and possibly a great deal of danger, Stark had already formed a small entourage. A posse of assistants and attendants were attempting to hand him folders and papers like he was back home at Stark Tower and nothing was wrong.  
  
Ignoring Sheila’s loud protests, Steve got up out of her chair and jogged hurriedly towards Tony, wiping greasy makeup off his face with the back of his hand as he went.  
  
Tony saw him approaching and dismissed his companions with a wave of his hand. They they scurried off past racks and rolling carts, and Tony watched them as they went and said, “They’re all very nice people, but they seem to have forgotten that I don’t get handed things- Rogers, are you wearing makeup?”  
  
Steve decided not to deign that with a response. “Stark, do you have any idea what’s going on? Where’s the rest of the team, we’ve got to regroup, we can’t lose anyone-”  
  
“Calm your tights, Cap, it’s all under control,” said Tony. “Unless it’s from overzealous cosmetics application, as in your case, we’re not in any danger.” He gestured expansively past Steve to the lime green walls and the eerily real-looking replica of the New York City street, and the people thronging the floor of the airy, warehouse-like space. Stark seemed to be right, however much suspicion Steve still held about their whereabouts- there were no aliens, no explosions, and so far no sign of Loki. Maybe they were safe after all.  
  
“Here, check it out.” Tony gave Steve a stapled packet that his retinue had managed to force onto him, and with his free hand grabbed a candy bar from a tray someone was carrying by.  
  
Steve scanned the top sheet of the packet, and read aloud: “‘Marvel’s The Avengers... Call Sheet, September 16th, 2011, third revision... Cast, Crew, Staff...’” What the...? This had to be some sort of prank...  
  
“Sir! Excuse me, sir! You can’t be eating in that costume!” A short, dark-haired man had come up to them, and he proceeded to practically yank the candy bar out of Tony’s hand. “Do you know how much trouble I’d be in with Suzi if you got anything on that suit? Not to mention the continuity supervisors, they’re halfway to insane today already.”  
  
“Excuse me?” Tony said, affronted. Steve could tell he was about to launch into a clever, sassy retaliation, defending his right to eat whatever he want whenever he wanted because he was Tony Stark, etc. etc. ad nauseum, but the man had already walked off.  
  
Steve barely succeeded in suppressing his laughter at the look on Stark’s face, which was growing redder by the second.  
  
“Anyway,” said Tony, attempting to regain his composure, “everyone else is at the snacks table. Let’s go.”  
  
So they headed over, squeezing past workers carrying strange equipment and pushing racks full of clothes, all bearing walkie-talkies or earpieces like Nick Fury’s. Steve tried to take everything in, hoping he’d find a clue to solving the secret of their situation among the myriad of people who all seemed to know exactly what they were doing. But the only thing he noticed were the looks he got from the passersby, looks that were not entirely unlike those he’d received as he was fighting the Chitauri not half an hour ago. They bordered between incredulity and enamorment, and the familiarity of the stares made him wonder if this wasn’t all just a big mistake, if SHIELD had shot them with a transport beam or something by accident, and if they walked out of the doors of this warehouse they’d be right back in the heat of battle.  
  
As they came closer to the table, Steve saw that Natasha, Barton, Thor, and Dr. Banner were huddled together, deep in conversation, next to an elaborately arranged spread of vegetables, pastries, and beverages.  
  
“So, have you been able to work anything out?” Dr. Banner was the first to notice Steve and Tony’s arrival, and looked expectantly up at them.  
  
“Well, we found this,” said Steve. He handed Banner the packet he had been holding, and then picked up a stick of celery from the table. Hey, it was free, and he was hungry; with all the chaos of the past few days, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten.  
  
Natasha peered over the doctor’s shoulder as he read. “What’s a call sheet?” she asked. “What are all these names?”  
  
Banner held it away from his face, screwing up his eyes in an attempt to read without his glasses. “I... I think...” he started to say, but his revelation was abruptly cut off by a shout coming from behind them.  
  
“Oh, great! You guys got the revisions as well! How d’you like them?”  
  
Steve almost choked on his celery. He’d have recognized that voice anywhere.  
  
Slowly, reluctant to face what he knew he’d see, Steve turned around, a deep and potent fury building inside of him.  
  
Standing in front of them was none other than Loki, in all his green, gold and ghastly glory. His greasy dark hair reflected the floodlights of the warehouse, and in his hand he held his sharp-tipped golden scepter.  
  
Nobody said anything. Loki’s eyes moved searchingly over each Avenger in turn, and when they met Steve’s, he felt a cold shiver run down his spine. The demigod opened his mouth to speak, and Steve wondered if he would let loose with another scathing, sharp-tongued oration on how they would inevitably be defeated.  
  
And then:  
  
“Er, why are you all looking at me like that? Was it something I said?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will remind my readers once more that, though everything in this story is played entirely for humor, if you spot any truly egregious inaccuracies re: film sets, schedules, etc. please do not hesitate to tell me!
> 
> (Also I am truly sorry for inflicting this story on you all I mean really how HIGH do you have to BE to write something like this)

Tom Hiddleston was very confused.

  
He’d just asked about the script changes, hadn’t he? But the six cast members in front of him were looking at him like he was their worst enemy.

“What did you _do_?” hissed Robert, his voice low and enraged. “I thought you’d reached your malicious peak when you started barfing alien warriors out of a hole in the sky, but this is getting ridiculous, Loki.”

Oh, was this what they were doing? Tom loved character exercises! He was glad to see that everyone else was finally finding the spirit of method dramatics; he’d been trying to convince them all to do these sorts of things with him for weeks now. As easily as flipping a switch, he settled comfortably into the mindset and character of Loki.

“You thought defeating me would be that easy?” he growled, advancing forwards and putting menace into his very footsteps.

“We had hoped this would be a fair fight,” said Chris Evans.

Tom laughed. “How perfectly naive,” he said. “There is an entire planet at stake, and you think I would let you win it back so easily?”

“Brother, let us resume our battle where we left off,” said Chris Hemsworth. “But not here.”

“Is that... _fear_ I hear in your words, Thor?” Tom said, and let loose one of Loki’s trademark wicked smiles. “Could it be that you’ve finally come to terms with your imminent downfall?”

“It’s your downfall that’s the imminent one,” said Robert.

“Empty threats,” said Tom venomously, and brought the sharp end of Loki’s staff up to Robert’s neck, where his skin met his suit.

“Hey, hey, let’s not do the physical violence thing near all the innocent people,” said Mark, putting a hand out to defend Robert.

 “Like that’s ever stopped him before,” said Robert

Hemsworth swatted Mark’s arm away, and lifted up Mjolnir as though to swing at Tom. He looked very angry. They were really getting into this, weren’t they?  
“Return us to whence we came, Loki,” he rumbled.

“Or _what_?”

In response, Chris hefted the hammer above his head and, with a swiftness and purpose that shocked Tom, brought it down.

Reflexively, Tom blocked the arc of the prop weapon with his forearm and grabbed it out of Chris’ hands. He broke character, taken aback and more than a little bit unnerved at the unexpected threat of brute force from someone he considered a close friend.

“Chris, what the hell?” he demanded. “We had something good going!”

Chris seemed to have been stunned into furious silence. His forehead creased as though he was trying to decide between parsing what had just happened and lunging at Tom again, and it occurred to Tom that perhaps he was having some sort of stress-related breakdown. Today had been a particularly hard day, after all, with retake after retake against a green screen fighting against invisible enemies, and Tom wasn’t feeling particularly hot himself- although that was simply a metaphor, and he was in fact burning up inside his heavy leather costume under the bright stage lights.

Scarlett had appeared next to Chris, and gently touched his arm to provide some sort of calming action. “Give that back,” said Chris, pointing to the hammer that Tom still had possession of. He hadn’t dropped the accent- was he still in character?

“What’s going on with you guys?” said Tom, peering at the rest of the group. “That was... fun, yeah, but I think we’ve finished.” He let out a laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

And then Chris leaned forward and _growled_ at Tom, whose eyes widened in fear.

“Look, it’s me, it’s Tom!” he said, his hands held up in the universal position of surrender.

Chris turned his back on Tom without saying a word, and immediately started muttering something to Robert as the rest of them listened in.

Tom tried for a few moments to catch what they were saying, but decided that it wasn’t worth it, and walked away.

“If you’re trying to prank me, I’ll have you know you can’t beat me at my own game,” he called over his shoulder as he left. 

Well, whatever was taking place, he’d surely find out all about it later. The main cast were all attending a press conference that night to give the media a little taste of what was to come, and hopefully they’d have gotten over their strange neurosis by then. Tom was excited for the interviews the most- he’d really gotten into the swing of answering questions during his work on this film, and the more he got to show off his eclectic and philosophical worldview and deep understanding of his character, the happier he was.

“Excuse me- Mr. Hiddleston?” A short boy in a black hoodie came up to him. Tom recognized him from around the set- a PA, perhaps, or an assistant grip.

“Yes?”

“Um, well, uh... my sister is a really big fan of yours, and, uh, she was wondering if I could-”

“I’ll sign anything you like,” said Tom, smiling. “I’ll even take a picture with a little sign saying hi to her, how’s that?”

The boy nodded, hastily pulling a Sharpie and a notepad from his rucksack.

“What’s her name?” Tom asked.

“Emily,” said the boy.

And so Tom wrote “Hello Emily, Love Tom” on the notepad, and held it up while the boy took a photo with his iPhone.

“Thank you so much, sir, she’s gonna be so happy, I really appreciate it-”

“It was no problem,” said Tom kindly. “I’ve got to get back to work now, but tell Emily I say hello.”  
  


******

  
The six heroes surreptitiously stared at Loki’s retreating figure, all various degrees of confused.

Thor had it the worst. After his brother had grabbed his precious Mjolnir right out of his hands, he had barely been able to restrain himself from knocking Loki to the ground with all the rage of the God of Thunder. But the conciliatory grasp of Natasha had calmed him enough to back away from the situation, and turn around to reassess.

“How’d he do that?” asked Bruce. “I thought... aren’t you the only one who can pick up your hammer? He lifted that thing pretty easily!”

“I don’t know what he’s done,” said Thor faintly. “But Mjolnir...”

He let go of the hammer’s handle, and let it fall to the ground as an ending to his sentence. The rest of the group winced, expecting to hear a loud smash as the impossibly heavy magic hammer left a crater in the concrete floor, but they were disappointed.

“Did it just... _bounce_?” Natasha said incredulously, uncovering her ears.

Tony bent down to pick up the hammer, and lifted it easily. He was pretty sure he had everything figured out by now- what was going on, where they were. Now the trick was to let everyone else know without a massive freak-out, and with this high-strung bunch of hardened heroes, that might be a little difficult.

He inspected Thor’s weapon, turning it over in his hands. Seeing as he could pick it up in the first place, it obviously wasn’t the enchanted hammer Thor had been using just a quarter of an hour ago against the Chitauri. It looked practically identical, but something about it was duller, dimmer, less mystical. He rapped on it with his knuckles, then brought it up to his ear to listen to the echoes.

“It’s a prop,” he said, handing the hammer back to its owner.

“A what?” said Thor.

“A prop. A fake, a phony, a crafted item for use by an actor, on camera, on a film set. Which, if they don’t have those in Asgard, are places where people pretend to be other people for entertainment. And money. Mostly money.”

“That’s where we are, isn’t it,” murmured Steve, who had been uncharacteristically silent up to now, resting his chin on his fist contemplatively. “A movie. We’re in a movie.”

“Oh,” said Natasha. “I thought everyone had figured that out already.”

“Yeah, me too,” Clint said. “What with the cameras and crew and everything, I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“Nothing has been obvious to me,” said Thor defensively, grabbing the fake hammer back from Tony, though he must have known it wouldn’t do him any good. “As Stark said, we do not have these things you call ‘movie sets’ on Asgard.”

“‘Course you don’t. You all get your kicks by riding around and killing things, right? No need for movies,” Tony mocked.

Thor simply glared at him in response.

“Anyway,” said Clint, “I figured it out at the same time I figured out that this-” he waved his high-tech bow around demonstratively- “wasn’t my bow when we first arrived. It’s a lot lighter, and the controls don’t do anything; they’re dummies, they’re just fancy lights. And I haven’t checked, but I suspect that if I did, I’d find my quiver full of fake arrows.”

“My bracelets are non-functional as well,” added Natasha, holding up her wrists to display her fashionable but deadly electric gauntlets.

“And you were planning on telling us all this _when_ , exactly?” Tony cried. “I was gonna make a big dramatic announcement, and you’ve known all this time? Not fair!”

The assassins looked at each other, smirking, and then back to Tony. Natasha shrugged.

“I guess we just assumed everyone knew.”

“So, we’re on a movie set,” said Steve slowly, gazing at the ground, apparently lost in thought. Abruptly, he snapped to attention and squared his shoulders, his powerful frame imbued with renewed energy.

“We’ve got to figure out a way to get back,” he said. “For all we know, time hasn’t stopped in Manhattan and the Chitauri are conquering the city at this very moment because we aren’t there to protect it. It’s our duty as the Avengers to return as quickly as possible and finish them off- and Loki too, and save our planet. We might be in a strange place of some sort, an, uh-”

“An alternate universe,” Bruce supplied.

“An alternate universe,” Steve repeated decisively. Tony doubted Steve knew what that meant; somehow, he didn’t really seem like the quantum theory type.

“We might be in an alternate universe, but that doesn’t mean we should stop fighting.” Steve’s face shone with expectation and ambition, and the rest of the group began to look similarly affected by his stirring words.

“Guys, I don’t know how to break it to you, but in this universe, we aren’t heroes,” said Tony. This was the part he’d been dreading. He grabbed the call sheet out of Bruce’s hands- the doctor looked surprised, like he’d forgotten he had still been holding it. “We’re _movie stars_.”

Tony pointed to Steve. “Captain, you’re someone called ‘Chris Evans’ in this universe,” he said, reading from a block of text on the call sheet labeled CAST and pointing at each Avenger in turn around the small circle they had formed. “Banner, you’re ‘Mark Ruffalo’; Natasha is ‘Scarlett Johansson’; Barton, you’re ‘Jeremy Renner’; and Hammertime over here is ‘Chris Hemsworth’.”

“And what about you?” asked Natasha.

“Me? Looks like I’m... ‘Robert Downey, Jr.’”

Steve snorted.

“What?” exclaimed Tony.

“Nothing, nothing,” said Steve, but the corner of his mouth twitched up into a smile.

“No, no, I agree,” said Tony pensively. “It just doesn’t have the same ring to it as ‘Tony Stark’, does it?”

“So... that was not my brother, was it?” asked Thor, as though he was coming to an immense realization.

“Nope,” said Tony. “That was someone called...” He scanned the cast list. “Tom Hiddleston.”

“But he _looked_ like-”

“Listen, Thor, in this universe there is no Loki. There is only that guy, Tom or whatever, who _pretends_ to be Loki-” Tony suddenly realized the futility of explaining the concept of an actor to a superpowered alien demigod from a distant world where they didn’t have movies. “He’s not Loki, okay?”

There was a loud noise from somewhere across the warehouse, an electric snapping, and the whole place became darker as the fluorescent lights hung from the metal grid of the ceiling began to go off. Tony tensed up immediately, battle-tuned nerves alight at the sudden change in environment. _Now_ what?

A tall black woman in a headset came up to them. “I’ve been told to tell you guys that you can head back to costumes and take everything off,” she said as she scribbled something hurriedly on a clipboard.

“Are we done for today?” asked Tony. He shot a look behind him to the rest of the group, warning them without saying anything to not let anyone know that anything was wrong. They couldn’t risk people from this universe thinking that a bunch of actors had gone crazy and shutting them up somewhere, drastically reducing their chance of getting back to the real world in time to save New York.

“Yeah,” the woman said. “You heard about the problems with the cameras?”

Tony distantly recalled the peeved douchebag who had ordered them off the set saying something about the last take being ruined. That probably had had something to do with the interference caused by Loki’s trans-universe switcheroo- if Tony’s hasty mental calculations were correct, the amount of electromagnetic energy required to displace six human beings across a spacetime membrane would deal some pretty intense damage to audiovisual recording equipment.

“I did hear about that,” Tony said. “So, uh, no more takes for today?”

The woman shook her head, and Tony felt relief swim through his body. There were many things he could do: complex physics in his head, invent artificial intelligence that passed the Turing test with flying colors, and build an indestructible mechanical exoskeleton out of scraps in a dark cave- but acting was _not_ one of them.

“They couldn’t get anything working, so that’s a yes. We have to wait for the people from the camera company to come in and give it all a look,” she said apologetically.

“Sorry, I know you were all prepped for another go and told that you were gonna finish up the green screen sequences today, but there’s really nothing we can do until we get the cameras fixed.”

“Oh no, it’s totally fine,” Steve spoke up. Tony could tell he was relieved as well; he’d seen the tapes of the Captain America wartime song-and-dance routine, and performance was not Rogers’s strong suit either.

“But now you can go back to your trailers and have a little siesta before that press conference tonight,” the woman said, and with that she walked away, chattering into her headset.

Steve turned to Tony. “Did she just say _press conference_?” he hissed.

“Oh no,” came Bruce’s murmur from behind them.

Tony grinned. Now here was something that he knew better than anyone.

“Oh, _yes_!”  
  


******

  
  
The six of them were herded out of the high-ceilinged hangar-like space that held the green screen set and across a labyrinthine complex of numbered buildings to the costume department, which was held inside a long, low structure with a helpful sign in front reading “COSTUMING.” Once inside, they were forced to split up as eager young assistants guided them to their personal dressing rooms.

Steve was thankful that he had this enthusiastic red-haired boy, apparently called Adam, to lead him around. He had no idea where he was going, but he suspected that Chris Evans, whoever he was, probably did- and if Steve’s cover was blown, as Tony had so eloquently put it right before they were separated, they would be screwed.

The sign on the door said CHRIS EVANS. Adam opened it, and they stepped inside. Steve immediately took in the lightbulb-lined mirror above a long white counter that had papers and books scattered over it, as well as assorted electronic devices plugged into an outlet on the wall. A wardrobe stood in the corner, and shelves next to it held multiple tubs of creams and gels he couldn’t begin to guess the function of.

Adam promptly went to work undoing the clasps and buckles that held Steve’s patriotic uniform on. The shirt and pants were hung up on a metal rack, with the gloves and boots carefully stowed beneath.

“Uh... thank you?” said Steve. He was pretty sure he could take off his clothes by himself, but Adam had begun before Steve could say anything.

Adam gave him a strange look, as though that politeness was unexpected. Was Chris Evans the kind of guy who didn’t even say ‘thank you?’ Steve almost shuddered at the thought.

“Have fun at the conference tonight, Mr. Evans,” said Adam as he wheeled the cart out of the dressing room. “Everyone’s getting so stoked about this movie, it’s great!”

“Yeah!” said Steve, attempting to match Adam’s level of enthusiasm. As soon as the boy was out of sight, Steve began to investigate his surroundings. He picked up a sheaf of papers at random from the counter and began to read.

The words on the page were formatted like a simple script, but their very presence was disconcerting. Steve became increasingly unnerved as he began to realize that some of these sentences he remembered hearing, word for word, earlier that day. Some of them he’d even said himself! His head spun as he tried to comprehend the existence of a world where the entire Avengers Initiative only existed on a screen- where he only existed as a character.

“Psst! Rogers!”

Steve looked around to see that Natasha’s head had appeared in the doorway of the dressing room.

“Get dressed, we’re meeting at Tony’s trailer in ten minutes!”

He nodded his assent and put down the script, relieved to be free, at least temporarily, of the mind-bending notions he was being forced to consider. As she closed the door, he went to the wardrobe in the corner of the room and opened it up.  
  


******

  
  
“Don’t you dare laugh.”

Steve had stepped into the trailer with his arms crossed in front of his chest, looking supremely uncomfortable. Evidently the dressing room of Chris Evans had not been stocked with the outdated attire that Steve generally preferred, because he was wearing a pair of distinctively modern skinny jeans, a tight navy v-neck shirt, and lace-up sneakers.

Tony had no intention of obeying Steve’s directive. He let out a guffaw, and within seconds everyone else had joined in. Tony couldn’t decide what was funnier- the sight of staidly anachronistic Steve Rogers in such a modern outfit, or the furiously embarrassed look on his face.

When they had all finished snickering and Steve had sat down at the table in the center of the trailer, Tony stood up.

“We’ve got to keep everything under wraps,” he said. “No letting the superpowered cat out of the bag. I’m announcing a blanket ban on showing off, cause I know how much you all love to do it,” He drew his fingers to his eyes and then pointed them at the assembled heroes in the universal gesture of “I’m watching you.”

“What about your- your, uh-” Steve pointed at Tony’s chest in lieu of finishing his sentence.

“My arc reactor? I covered it up with duct tape after the guy who took my suit off almost caught a glimpse. This shit is proprietary, I can’t go around letting some alternate universe weirdos sneak free peeks.” He rapped a knuckle on his chest device, the glass and metal muffled by his t-shirt and the tape.

“Isn’t getting back home our top priority?” asked Natasha. “Why do we have to worry about this place, wherever it is? I’m still not convinced Loki’s not setting us up.”

“No lives should be put at stake,” Thor countered. “This may not be our world, but it is theirs.”

“Yeah,” said Tony. “Exactly. Unless Loki shows up- and I mean the real Loki, not this Hiddlesdongle guy- or we get back home, it’d be in our best interests to refrain from punching, zapping, shooting, and/or Hulking out. Think you can handle that?”

Murmurs of assent came from everyone except from Clint and Natasha, who had suddenly burst out laughing, disrupting the high-priority atmosphere of Tony’s speech. Clint had found a laptop somewhere in the expansive, posh trailer while Tony had been talking, and whatever was on its screen was sending him and the redhead into hysterics.

“Stark, you’re not gonna believe this!”

Clint spun the laptop around to face everyone else. [A video was playing on its screen.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tyoU72wPUjw)

“Robert Downey Jr. is known for taking chances in his acting career, but in _Tropic Thunder_ , he went the distance...”

As the clip played, the expressions around the table turned from befuddled to amused, and pretty soon everyone was in stitches. Tony kept his expression carefully inscrutable.

There was a knock on the trailer door, and Tony hastily slammed the laptop closed, cutting off the clip mid-sentence to the disappointment of the rest of the group.

“Mr. Downey? The car’s here to take you to the press conference!”

Everyone stiffened. Tony suspected they’d forgotten about fact that the press conference was a thing that was, indeed, happening.

“Don’t worry,” he said reassuringly. “Maybe Loki will show up! You know how much he loves big crowds of people just waiting to be subjugated.”

“And if we find him, we find our way out,” said Steve.

They exited the trailer one by one, and the eyes of the girl who’d knocked widened with each person stepping down onto the pavement.

“What were you guys all doing in there?” she asked as she led them across the parking lot filled with trailers, a clipboard in her hand and a walkie-talkie on her belt.  
“You look worried... are you upset over the camera troubles? I’ve been told they’ve almost got it figured out-”

They had reached a huge, shiny black limousine parked on the far side of the lot. A burly, buzzed man wearing sunglasses and an earpiece sat in the driver’s seat, and the windows were tinted.

“We’re taking _this_?” Steve said, dumbstruck.

“I was hoping for a helicopter, but this’ll do, I _guess_ ,” said Tony.

As soon as they clambered into the capacious vehicle, they realized they were not alone. Someone else was sitting inside, the glow of a smartphone highlighting the angles of a familiar face.

“Hi, guys!” chirped not-Loki. “Excited for the conference? I know I am!”

Tony groaned.

“Not this guy again!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... it's been a while. 
> 
> But Captain America 2 got me back in the MCU mood, and after rereading this I realized that it really did deserve an update. So here it is! And I'm sorry about the wait. Really. 
> 
> (Also, sorry about the bumpy tone— the first third or so of this chapter was written way back in 2012!)

They sat in the plush limousine for what seemed like an eternity as it purred along the highway. Tony had assumed they were in Hollywood, but he was proven wrong by multiple signs indicating that they were heading towards the Albuquerque city center.

Tony didn’t envy Clint and Natasha— sitting opposite him, they were squeezed in on either side of the annoyingly chirpy Tom Hiddleston. Clint was fiddling with a piece of plastic and Natasha was examining her cuticles in a futile attempt at distraction, but they couldn’t do anything to block out Hiddleston’s perpetual yammering. The man was seemingly unaware of everyone else’s obvious twitchiness, because he just would not shut up.

“...and of course, _Sigh No More_ has got to be one of the foremost artistic endeavors of this decade, don’t you agree, Robert...”

“...then I thought about taking some time off to do a service trip to Southeast Asia or perhaps Africa, it would be such a fantastic way to raise awareness, right, Mark...”

“....so for a while it was just me and an annotated copy of _Julius Caesar_ on the seashore at sunset— paradise, really, Chris...”

The other occupants of the limo were experiencing a mixture of repulsion and fascination with the man who was identical in appearance and voice but completely opposite in personality to the Loki they knew. The aura of malice and evil that was practically visible by the naked eye around Loki had been replaced with an emanation of good feelings and warmth. Hiddleston was well-versed in philosophy, history, literature, and art; he was generous, considerate, astute, and contemplative. And he was nice. Really, _really_ nice.

“It’s been absolutely incredible working with you all,” he said, after finishing recounting a visit he’d made to a children’s hospital before filming started, accompanied by a slideshow of pictures on his phone. Most of the group managed assenting nods; Steve muttered a soft “you as well,” ever the gentleman. Thor was motionless— Tony could tell he was gritting his teeth to prevent an outburst. It was hard for Tony to comprehend the existence of this mirror image of Loki, but it must have been utterly discombobulating for Thor.

“This is really a tremendous experience, and I’d just like to let you know that I’m truly honored to be a part of it with you,” Hiddleston continued, his white teeth gleaming in a genuine grin that looked completely out of place in a face Tony had usually seen set in a menacing glare.

Tony turned to Bruce, who was sitting next to him and staring at his shoes, pale-faced, and whispered, “This is some serious Twilight Zone shit.”

Bruce replied, “We’re going full-on Invasion of the Body Snatchers here.”

Tony noticed Hiddleston giving him and Bruce an odd look at this hushed exchange, so he flashed him a reassuring smile. _We’re all bros here_ , he tried to convey. _Totally no weird inter-dimensional exchanges or alien conspiracies or anything, nope!_

He must have succeeded in easing Hiddleston’s mind, because the chatter ceased and Hiddleston now relaxed back into his seat and put on a pair of expensive-looking over-ear headphones. He closed his eyes and began bobbing his head in time to an unknown beat.

Natasha caught Tony’s eye and leaned forward. “Can he hear us?” she mouthed, pointing at Hiddleston.

“I don’t know— can you hear us, Stepford Smiler?” Tony said loudly, and snapped his fingers a few times. There was no response.

“That would be a no,” confirmed Natasha, sitting back in her seat. She cast a suspicious glance at Hiddleston, and seeing that his eyes were still closed, took the chance to inspect his face curiously.

“He looks exactly the same!” she murmured incredulously. “His hair’s a bit shorter, though...”

“This imposter is growing increasingly infuriating,” said Thor. “I am still not convinced that this all isn’t one of Loki’s tricks. Why should we be humoring this man’s rambling when he could be the secret to leaving this place? We should try to extract information!” His fists were clenched on his lap around the absence of his hammer.

Steve sighed. “Thor, I don’t think this man could hurt a fly, let alone destroy New York City. He’s not Loki, alright?”

Thor looked unconvinced.

“I’m not saying I agree with Thor,” Clint said slowly. “But he could be right. What if Loki’s just pretending to be this Hiddleston guy, to lull us into a false sense of security? Get us all thinking he’s some hipster do-gooder with an annoying laugh, and then take us down when we’re least expecting it.”

Before anyone could respond to this, the limo began to slow to a halt. Tony craned his neck to peer out the window as the limo pulled up in front of a white stucco building. He glimpsed a  printed awning reading **ALBUQUERQUE FILM AND MEDIA CENTER** , but most of the building was obscured from view by a massive swarm of Tony’s least favorite type of person: journalists.

“Shit,” he said.

Hiddleston removed his headphones. “We’re here!” he exclaimed, grinning. “And look, we’ve got company!” He eagerly made his way out of the limo, and the sounds of camera flashes and shouting reporters filtered in through the open door.

Tony glanced around the limo at its remaining passengers. Their expressions varied

between the determined (Clint, Steve, Natasha), the bewildered (Thor), and the terrified (Bruce). Tony whipped on a pair of sunglasses and gave the team two thumbs up and one of his trademark winning smiles. Then he hopped out of the limo.

 

******

 

Steve looked out the window, watching Tony mingle with the crowd, and then back to the remaining occupants of the car. “Compared to the Chitauri, this should be a piece of cake,” he said, but even he wasn’t sure if he believed that.

He stepped out onto the bustling promenade, and a microphone was instantly shoved into his face.

“Mr. Evans!” a short blonde woman wearing too much makeup practically shouted at him. “How is filming going? What’s your workout routine like? Any sneak peeks you can give us of the plot?”

“Um, I, uh—” Steve stuttered, not knowing how to answer. “It’s very— it’s very exciting?”

The reporter nodded knowingly as Steve looked around for a way out. On the opposite side of the wide walkway, he glimpsed Tony leaning against a barrier and signing autographs for what seemed like hundreds of shrieking girls.

“I have to— go over there—” Steve said, jerking a thumb towards the enclosure, from where he could hear screams of “CHRIS, CHRIS!”

“Oh, of course,” the reporter said. “Always so kind to your fans! See you inside!”

Over at the barricade, Steve sidled up to Tony and took a pen from the first girl he saw, vivid memories of his brief flirtation with entertainment-industry fame flooding back to him.

“ _Don’t_ write ‘Steve!’” Tony reminded Steve as he posed for a selfie with practiced ease. “Keep our cover!”

“Right,” Steve said, and scribbled “Chris Evans.” That was the name, right? When he’d finished signing, he looked down at the photo and experienced a dizzying moment of— whatever the opposite of deja vu was. The picture was very clearly of him— his face, his body— but he was sure his hair had never ever been that short or dark in his life, and were those _tattoos?!_

He shoved the photo back at the girl and moved on, but just as he was about to nod and smile and sign the notepad of a braces-wearing brunette who looked like she was about to cry with happiness, Hiddleston swooped in out of nowhere like some sort of graceful bird.

“Oh my god, Tom!” screeched the girl, Steve’s presence forgotten. The attention of the entire crowd seemed to swerve, magnetically and immediately, to Hiddleston.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Hiddleston asked her.

“I’m Kendra— oh my god, oh my god, I love you!” the girl said, fanning herself with one hand while the other, shaking, held out the notepad.

“To Kendra,” Hiddleston said as he signed, “with love, Tom.” And then, though he obviously didn’t have to, he leaned over and gave her a hug. Steve thought she was going to faint right there.

Hiddleston turned to Steve, then, ignoring the pleas of the young women behind the barrier, and put a hand on his shoulder. Steve had to hold back an involuntary wince. Even after the interminable limo ride, and the objective knowledge that this man was the polar opposite of the embodiment of pure evil that Loki was, some deep, primal part of Steve still railed against his very presence.

“Chris, I know how much you hate crowds like this,” Hiddleston said. “You don’t have to be out here, it’s not the premiere, no pressure, you’ll be fine if you go right in!” He smiled reassuringly, and gestured towards the doors. “Look, Joss is going in right now, and we’ll all be there in a few minutes.”

Steve looked over to see a red-headed man walking through the building’s entrance. The name rang a bell— then he remembered it had been the byline on the first page of the script in his dressing room.

“Right,” Steve said. “Don’t like crowds. Yeah.” He was coping well enough— he was a soldier, after all, no stranger to high-pressure situations— but apparently he did not share this trait with Mr. Evans.

Steve looked around, trying to spot the rest of his team through the thick of fans, reporters, and bulky men who he could only assume to be bodyguards. Tony was still signing down the line on this side of the promenade, and he caught a glimpse of Natasha’s red hair across the way, but it was too crowded to get a lock on anyone else’s position. He hated being so powerless like this, without his shield in an alien and possibly hostile environment, but until he had a full grasp on the situation, he didn’t dare enact any tactics. Better to just go with the flow, keep their cover, like Tony had said. Hopefully things would reveal themselves sooner rather than later— though he was sure Tony would have no problems, Steve couldn’t imagine keeping up this movie-star act for long.

So he left the fans, Hiddleston, and Tony (who was very obviously in his element) behind, and entered the building, following the man Hiddleston had pointed out down a hallway and then through a door that read “GREEN ROOM.”

 

*****

 

“Mr. Hemsworth, I’m Ellie Goodwin, with Entertainment Weekly. What do you love most about being a part of this landmark film?”

“It is truly an honor—”

“And how’s your brother? He’s doing pretty well for himself, with everything he’s got going on— are you two competitive at all? A little sibling rivalry?”

“My… my brother?”

“Yes! Your brother!”

“My brother’s heart is dark and his ways are cruel, and though it pains me, I must go up against him. He longs for domination over this realm, and has taken power that is not his. Truly, a rivalry of cosmic proportions, unlike anything this world has seen.”

“...Um.”

 

*****

 

Tom entered the green room of the Film and Media Center fifteen minutes later to find the rest of the main cast already there, huddled together around a coffee table while Joss yelled into his phone by the snack bar.

“Sorry I’m late,” Tom said apologetically, sitting down by the table. “There were so many fans out there, I had to do my best to say hello to them all— what did I miss?”

“Absolutely nothing, Tom,” said Scarlett, a little too quickly.

Tom grinned. “You’re up to something, I know it,” he said. “My birthday’s not till February, guys!”

Scarlett was about to respond when Joss snapped angrily “Okay, whatever, bye!” into his phone, hung up, and stalked over, whispering “fuck you!” under his breath.

“What was that about?” Tom asked.

“Fucking execs,” Joss said, massaging his temples. “It’s the budget again. They want us to cut half of the FX days out of the Hulk battle on the Helicarrier, and I was like, fuck no, Mark worked way too hard with that mo-cap suit for you just to drop it all down the garbage disposal, goddammit!” He shot a look at Mark. “If only we could get a real Hulk! No CGI needed, just shoot you up with some gamma rays and boom-boom! Ten million saved!”

Joss laughed uproariously at his own joke, but Mark was stony-faced.

“Come on,” Tom said, trying to lighten the mood. “That was funny!” He wondered what was up with the cast— he’d have to carry this press conference by himself if they didn’t perk up! Not that he wouldn’t be able to, of course, but they were a _team_ , weren’t they? Filming had been going so well, all of them playing off each others’ strengths and weaknesses to form a coherent and entertaining ensemble, but suddenly Tom was feeling excluded and ignored. It was like primary school all over again!  

A man with an ID badge identifying him as a staff member swung open the door of the green room and said, “All right, they’re ready for you out there.”

Joss walked out onto the stage in the next room, and raucous applause echoed into the green room through the open door. Tom leapt up with excitement, but everyone else remained seated.

“Come on!” he said. “What are you waiting for?”

Evans stood up and leaned close to Tom, conspiratorially.

“Hey. So, uh, have you… have you noticed anything strange, or unusual, going on around the set lately?”

Tom thought for a second. “Well,” he said, “They did replace all the sodas with diet--”

“No, no, like...” said Evans. “Like, spooky stuff. Stuff you can’t explain.”

Tom frowned, confused by this sudden interrogation, but before he could answer, a call of “Let’s go in there!” came from outside. There was a moment of hesitation, and then the cast dutifully filed out, to the welcoming cheers of the gathered audience.

 

*****

 

A window shimmered in the air before Loki, its outlines shining with the blue energy of the Tesseract. Through it, he watched as the Avengers, helpless and uncomfortable, struggled with the questions lobbed at them by the eager media.

Loki laughed, a cruel cackle whipped away by the wind atop Stark Tower. “Pitiful,” he said. “The saviors of this world, and yet they cannot contend with a few simple queries about the dramatic arts.”

He closed his eyes, feeling power thrum through his veins like liquid fire. “They are vulnerable, now, trapped. They cannot reveal themselves and their abilities, else they be taken for lunatics. These powerful heroes, reduced to—”

“Are you talking to me, sir?”

Loki spun around to face the Chitauri commander standing behind him. He was bowed in deference, flanked by two footsoldiers holding laser weapons. “Er, yes— you!” he said. “You must carry out my plan. Eliminate the Avengers while they are weak and confused— and then, without its defenders, the city will be yours.”

Loki waved his staff in the direction of the three Chitauri. A golden shimmer passed over them from head to toe, and suddenly the three forms on the rooftop platform were not gold-plated insectoid aliens but black-suited, dark-haired human men. They looked down at themselves, inspecting their new illusory bodies.

“That will make it even easier, do you not agree?” Loki said.

“Yes, sir,” said the Chitauri commander. “We shall do as you command.” He motioned to his soldiers; they cocked their weapons intimidatingly with a sonic whine.

 

Loki nodded, satisfied, and grinned. The tip of his spear began to pulse and glow again, and a blinding white light enveloped the disguised Chitauri.

Then they were gone, and Loki was alone.

“Now, where was I,” he said, turning back to his window onto the world he’d transported his enemies to. “Ah, yes. These powerful heroes, reduced to nothing more than players on the stage of a shallow world, stripped of their status while I reign supreme in the realm they treasure…”

 

*****

 

The moon shone, clear and cold, over the New Mexico scrublands. Crickets chirped, and a soft wind rustled the low brush. There was a bright flash, and a sound like marbles clattering to a tile floor, and suddenly, three forms appeared out of thin air, silhouetted against the starry sky.

A terrified jackrabbit darted out of the way as the men, who did not move quite like men, stalked purposefully north towards the bright lights of Albuquerque Studios in the distance.

 

 


End file.
